


In which Adam challenges Crowley to a drinking contest and it is a terrible idea

by Macdicilla



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: #JustAntichristThings, Alcohol, Drinking Contest, F/M, Gen, Lots of alcohol, M/M, Poor judgement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4126411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macdicilla/pseuds/Macdicilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a rather foolish thing to set a bet with the devil, or even with a devil, unless you have an ace—or better yet, all the aces in the deck—up your sleeve.</p>
<p>But if you are the Antichrist, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is Called Dragon, Spawn of Satan, etc., etc., well…you were born with all the aces up your sleeve, and the only admonishment you need is “Have fun, kiddo, and don’t screw him over too hard.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Adam challenges Crowley to a drinking contest and it is a terrible idea

**Author's Note:**

> Edited on May 11th for punctuation.

‘I can probably out-drink you,’ said Adam Young.  
Any of the other guests at Newton Pulsifer and Anathema Device’s wedding would have said, ‘Yeah, fair enough. You definitely could. I’m not going to take you up on this one, mate.’  
After all, who hadn’t heard the stories? This was the young man who was a legend among their friends, a myth at his university, a tall tale that pub owners told each other huddled around a campfire at night at some sort of pub owner retreat to scare the younger ones, even though they all knew it was impossible for a mere man to drink anybody’s establishment clean out of stock without falling over dead.  
But while any of the other wedding guests would have agreed with Adam’s statement, the couple he’d addressed chuckled fondly.

‘My dear boy,’ said Aziraphale, peering over the top of his glasses, ‘surely you’re not challenging  _us_.’

‘And who’s to say we’ll play fair?’ added the demon Crowley. ‘I can sober myself up at the snap of a finger.’

But Adam had already sat himself down at their table. ‘Brilliant,’ he said, grinning. ‘So you’re in?’

Aziraphale shook his head. ‘I am not. I have an unfair advantage over you. The playing field is not level and this could only be bad for your health.’

‘That’s okay, angel,’ said Crowley. ‘You can arbitrate the contest. I think this is the perfect opportunity to teach Adam not to challenge occult or ethereal beings.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ groaned Aziraphale.  
‘ _Wicked_ ,’ said Adam.

* * *

  
The rules were as follows:

  1. In order to maintain sportsmanlike fairness, Crowley was not allowed to miracle the alcohol out of his bloodstream.
  2. They would both drink the same amount of alcohol, which was to be in the form of the white wine served in their glasses. Aziraphale would miracle refills as needed, so as not to waste Anathema and Newt’s wine on  _this childish and silly competition_.
  3. Adam would make sure not to drink to the point of human alcohol poisoning. Aziraphale had no idea where exactly this point was with respect to number of glasses of wine, but he encouraged Adam to be mindful of where his limits were.
  4. The contest would end when one or both of the two gave up.



* * *

  
One bottle each and neither showed signs of flagging. They maybe really needed to pee, but besides that, no notable effect.

‘Oh, for Heaven’s sakes,’ huffed Aziraphale. ‘Either stop fidgeting or go now.’

So Adam and Crowley got up and made their way to the men’s room, slightly unsteady on their feet.

Crowley made his way to one of the stalls, but Adam told him to stay where he could see him. After all, it would be cheating if Crowley took a tactical chunder.

‘What,’ said Crowley, ‘in fuck’s name is a tactical chunder?’

‘It’s, you know, when someone preemptively makes themselves throw up some of what they’ve drunk. So they can keep going.’

Crowley muttered something about it being goddamn wasteful and slammed the stall door shut. Adam decided not to worry about it. If Crowley were to try puking, he’d be able to hear him anyway.

* * *

  
Two bottles each and Crowley was starting to get affectionate with the angel. Aziraphale swatted a long-fingered hand off his thigh for the eighth time.

‘Focus, dear. The sooner you win this, the sooner we can go home.’  
‘I’m right here,’ said Adam.  
‘I’ve got some good ideas for when we get home,’ said Crowley, waggling his eyebrows. ‘I’m feeling ever so relaxed and pliant.’  
‘I’ll keep that in mind for tomorrow morning when you’re sober,’ said Aziraphale.  
‘ ‘M still right here,’ said Adam, a bit red-faced from the wine.

* * *

  
Two and a half bottles each and they had decided to take a pause, though not because they wanted to pace themselves or anything responsible like that, but because Adam knew this song, and they had to sing along.  
Crowley had decided to sing along too, and was telling Adam between verses about how he had been at the original concert where it was played, but somehow, he wasn’t sure Adam was quite understanding.

‘You’ve got a lovely tenor,’ slurred Adam.  
‘ ‘M actur-actually a mezzo, but thanks,’ said Crowley.

* * *

  
Three (and one fourth?) bottles, and they needed to pee again, but could barely stand on their feet. Aziraphale had to walk them to the restroom, Crowley leaning on his right arm and Adam on his left.

He deposited Adam at a urinal and helped Crowley into a stall.  
Adam could hear them talking.  
‘Crowley, when is this going to end?’ Aziraphale asked.  
‘Ssoon’s he gives up, honeyfeathers. Teaching him a lesssson ‘bout ssupernatural beings, is what I’m doing. Ssoon’s he learns.’

* * *

  
An undetermined amount of wine later (Aziraphale had lost track) and Adam was beginning to nod off at the table.

‘Areyou givinup?’ Crowley asked. ‘Is thisss you nodding out?’  
Adam shook his head. ‘Only sleepy because iss late. Honest t’god. Dizzy?’  
‘Me too.’  
‘I do think it’s been enough,’ said Aziraphale, to no one in particular.  
‘Nonssense. ’Nother!’ said Crowley, holding up two empty glasses out to him, who sighed and refilled them.

* * *

  
It was around one in the morning when Crowley muttered ‘Holy shit!’, slumped down on the table, and then slid off sideways, keeling over on the ground.

Aziraphale yelped and dashed to pick him up. He was as limp as a sack of potatoes in his arms.  
‘Crowley? Are you all right? Darling, can you hear me? Crowley? Hello?’  
Crowley let out a faint groan. His eyes briefly fluttered open, unfocused and glazed over. Then they shut and he began snoring.

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Aziraphale. ‘I’ve got to take him to the car.’

‘I can help,’ said Adam, standing up immediately.

‘Don’t be silly, you’re in no state to help him,’ snapped Aziraphale. ‘I knew this stupid contest would come to no good.’

‘No, really, I can help,’ insisted Adam, in perfectly un-slurred speech, grinning like a little imp. He walked towards his fallen opponent without so much as a wobble in his gait.

Aziraphale glared at him in distrust. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

‘I can turn wine to water. Just antichrist things,’ said Adam triumphantly. ‘I’ve actually been drinking water the whole time and acting drunk.’

‘Ah,’ said Aziraphale in a steely tone. ‘So you think this is funny, do you? Look what you’ve done to him. I hope you’re happy.’

He kind of was, if he were to be perfectly honest with himself, but it didn’t seem to be the right moment to admit it.

‘What else have you used this dirty trick of yours for? Underage drinking when you were younger? Suddenly your friend’s parents come home and nope, you’re all drinking water, it’s all bloody fine?’

‘Er, no. Should have thought of that, though. Mostly, I use it for magic tricks. It’s amusing at parties. I showed it to Anathema earlier.’

‘ _And did she tell you it was bleeding funny_?’

‘Ah…not quite,’ Adam admitted sheepishly. ‘She said “What the fuck, Adam, this was perfectly good Riesling.”’

‘Help me get Crowley to the car, and not another word out of you,’ fumed Aziraphale. ‘Honestly, Adam Young, look at him. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. It was badly done. A needlessly cruel prank.’

‘‘M sorry,’ muttered the Antichrist.

* * *

  
The next morning found Crowley curled up in a ball of pain, even with the curtains shut and enough Advil to relieve a few elephants of all their earthly misery. It was the sort of day one would spend entirely in bed, groaning.

‘We should have killed him eight years ago when we had the chance,’ Muttered Aziraphale, handing Crowley an herbal tea and a hot water bottle for his head. ‘Or maybe you shouldn’t have participated in that foolish competition.’

‘Don’t be like that, Az,’ murmured Crowley. Though he was suffering from what had to be the worst headache ever, he had some grudging respect for the kid. Points for cunning. He really was his father’s son.

 


End file.
